“How?”
“I've got a tip about it.”
A girl with oval face and faint black down on her upper lip brought them soup, a thick greenish colored soup, that steamed richly into their faces.
“If you tell me how I can get out of the army you'll probably save my life,” said Andrews seriously.
“There are two ways...Oh, but let me tell you later. Let's talk about something worth while...So you write music do you?”
Andrews nodded.
An omelet lay between them, pale golden-yellow with flecks of green; a few amber bubbles of burnt butter still clustered round the edges.
“Talk about tone-poems,” said Henslowe.
“But, if you are an adventurer and have no scruples, how is it you are still a private?”
Henslowe took a gulp of wine and laughed uproariously.